


Up Against The Wall

by windchijmes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after a particularly rough night of sex, Dean is taking a shower and realises there are huge, long scratches on his back from Richard's nails. It stings like a bitch...and it turns him on big time. Richard meanwhile, is waiting for his turn to shower and when Dean's taking such a bloody long time, he courteously intrudes - and sees Dean fucking his own hand in the shower and moaning Richard's name. The only logical thing for Richard to do next is to shove Dean up against the wall and have his way with him, isn't it?</p><p>(Yep that IS the plot. Which is also the title.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Against The Wall

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely fictional. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact and no libel is intended.**
> 
> Fill for these prompts:  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6124.html?thread=14694380#t14694380  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6124.html?thread=15182060#t15182060

_Thank you God for hot showers._

Dean sighs as the water cascades over him in a gentle drizzle. He’s having one of those baby showers, as Richard likes to tease him. _And whose fault is it?_ Dean would answer, which inevitably makes him the winner of that argument. It usually ends with Richard’s eyes raking over Dean’s naked body in a delicate leer – something which is Armitage-patented – before he turns his head and chuckles into one hand.

Yeah, smug, that one. And perhaps he does have a right to be, considering how he performed the night before.

The water streams down Dean’s back and he inhales sharply. Godawfullyfuckingpainful, that is! Twisting around, he checks his reflection in the mirror and grimaces at the sight of long, red scratches down the length of his entire back – and over his arse-cheeks. And ending with a sting _inside_ his –

 _That’s enough, O’Gorman_ , he shuts his own mind up.

Just because last night’s sex was wild and ridiculously amazing, it doesn’t mean he has to re-live it in the shower the next morning. It doesn’t mean that he’s going to recall the way Richard’s voice sounds – a deep, velvet thrum caressing over Dean’s skin. Or how his hands – so large and long-fingered – grasped his waist and lifted him onto Richard’s lap to be pounded into.

Between Dean’s thighs, his cock begins to twitch in eager response. Oh, _fuck_.

They have a silent agreement about mornings-after. What happens during their nights together stays right there. The next day, they’ll shower, dress themselves and quickly, quietly and rather skilfully by now, leave for their respective locations, be it set or trailer. And for months, that’s worked out pretty well. Astoundingly well, actually. Dean loves sex in all its fluidity and never can stay away from it for long, and Richard is always brimming over with pent-up tension and energy. They address each other’s needs, so to speak.

Richard is likely waiting his turn to shower right now. He may even be pottering around the trailer, just metres away from the door.

The scratches on Dean’s back are starting to feel too-hot and tingly. He turns and props one arm on the wall, leaning his face into it and trying to compose himself. He’d gotten those scratches while riding Richard, to put it bluntly. Frantic, frenzied, feeling like a slut and being amazingly aroused by it as he bucked against the bigger man, Richard’s nails digging into his skin as he moaned so deep and low in his throat, raking his nails down Dean’s back to grip his arse, pulling Dean apart to fuck his cock up even deeper –

Dean is half-hard now without even touching himself. There’s no way around it. It’s either he takes care of this right now, or he takes it with him to work and like hell he’s going to stomp around in Fili gear with a raging dick.

Biting down on his lip, he reaches down and curls his hand around his shaft. He can hardly keep from gasping, squeezing his eyes close as his cock swells. But he loses the battle right after and groans aloud, his hips jerking forward and shoving his erection into his own grip. He wishes suddenly it’s Richard’s chiselled lips around him, looking so perfectly _refined_ even as he inflicts the most torturous pleasure on Dean. And the most piercing eyes Dean’s ever seen – nearly the same shade of blue as Dean’s, but so ferociously focused – peering up at him as Dean fucks into his mouth.

 _Jesus_.

The shower is just a hazy mist around him. His senses are tunnelling, narrowing, until all he feels is the drag and pull over his erection. God, he’s almost there. _Almost there._

++++++++++

Leaning into the counter-top, Richard Armitage absently rubs at his chin with his palm. It’s a little habit of his, something that helps to sort his thoughts out. Outside, the early sunshine filters through the blinds, warming the skin of his upper torso. He’s wearing only a pair of old, faded jeans and it’s so comfortable, the morning so lazy, that he almost re-considers his plan of barging into the shower.

Dean is taking a long time in there and it is unlike him. For all of his laidback personality, Dean is surprisingly perceptive and he understands issues without needing Richard to spell them out for him.

Issues such as punctuality, professionalism, discretion. In no particular order.

They have a break in the morning; Peter’s doing blocking with some of the others that will likely stretch well into the day. However, Richard thinks it’s only right that he goes to set a little earlier and keep himself aware of how the shoot is progressing. Which brings the current problem back to the forefront of Richard’s mind.

Dean is still in the shower and the shower is still running.

 _He’ll need it_ , Richard’s mind helpfully explains. _You mauled him last night_.

Did he now? As if on cue, images flash one after another in his mind’s eye. Hauling Dean through the door, practically tossing the smaller man onto the bed, yanking his clothes off so roughly he ripped a few buttons _again_ , gripping Dean with near brute force as he spears into him, then doing it again and again while the blonde writhes so _deliciously_.

 _Oh_. All right, then. Before he’s aware of it, Richard’s smiling, the one that likely looks as wicked as it feels on his face. Tendrils of heat begin to slither into his loins. It’s a good heat; it’ll keep him just on the edge of actual arousal but it’s still well within his control, a sultry reminder at the back of his mind until their next session.

But he does need that shower now to get himself ready.

Once he’s made a decision, Richard carries it through in action. At this moment, he is going to politely intrude on Dean’s privacy, which will likely succeed because odds are Dean always forgets to lock the door. He has a few options after that. _One_. Threaten to wash Dean like a child if the blonde doesn’t do it fast enough himself.

Richard reaches the bathroom door and pushes it open.

 _Two_. Shed his jeans and step right in there to take his shower, whether or not Dean has finished.

He steps through the doorway.

_Three –_

Option three never surfaces. It dies a quick death in Richard’s mind as he beholds the sight of Dean having a wank in the shower.

That’s what it is in theory. The reality is a gloriously wet Dean O’Gorman hunched against the wall, hips undulating like – like something thoroughly _debauched_. His feet are spread, the firm curves of his buttocks flexing as he thrusts, his thighs trembling and parting to unintentionally offer sinful glimpses of reddened, erect flesh in frantic fingers.

 _Jesus. Fucking. Christ._ Richard’s mind spews out before he can censor it.

The blonde’s head tosses back, eyes shut tight, mouth panting and gasping and trying so desperately to be quiet.

Richard’s mouth opens. He means to say something rational, something along the lines of _Dean, won’t you please hurry up and climax, so I can have the shower?_

 _Richard, Richard, please…_ Whimpers tumble from Dean’s lips like entreaties.

A strangled grunt squeezes past Richard’s throat. He thinks his feet are moving already, but his mind is blanking rapidly and he feels only the strain of his control stretched so, _so_ taut.

“Richard?” Dean turns his head, just enough for Richard to see his widened, mortified eyes. But it’s what he does _after_ – that clumsy fumble as he tries to stop and cover himself while still softly, helplessly moaning –

 _That_ has Richard slamming him up against the wall.

The gasp of surprise from Dean is very real, and it is swiftly followed by another as Richard’s hand seizes short, blond curls.

“Richard, I – ” Dean tries to say and falters when his head is slowly drawn back, baring his neck, while large, powerful thighs pinion him to the wall.

“Quiet,” Richard tells him. He turns off the shower with his free hand – those gentle little drizzles that Dean is so fond of. There won’t be any need for those now. Not when Richard is here to _assist_ him in finishing up. “Were you thinking of me just now?” he asks, almost casually, but his voice has deepened into a growl and they both hear it.

“Y-Yeah,” Dean admits and his cheeks are stained with colour. He is speaking with some difficulty from the way Richard is holding him. His spine is arched, just shy of discomfort, and he is still hard as a _rock_. Richard sees now how close Dean had been to completion. The blonde’s arousal lies upright against his belly like a stiff, pulsing mast, glistening from water and copious fluid from its tip. He doesn’t touch it; he has other plans.

“Still thinking now,” Dean adds, actually managing a smirk despite his predicament.

Richard laughs deep in his throat. This infuriatingly irrepressible man in his arms. He’s starting to realise Dean is as addictive as a drug.

“You’re going to ruin my schedule,” he mouths against the side of Dean’s neck, pressing kiss after kiss along the wet skin, until his teeth catches on the earlobe. “How will you make it up to me?” he says right into Dean’s ear, not missing the way the younger man quivers against him.

Dean doesn’t say a word, but his body answers for him. Inhaling a deep breath, he angles back with his hips, grinding his arse against the front of Richard’s jeans. It’s a simple, carnal plea, and Richard feels his groin tighten instantly. It’s like a dam has broken; the carefully-restrained desire of earlier surging to the fore in pure, single-minded _lust_.

“Good,” he breathes, his hand unsteady as he works his jeans open and tugs them down just enough to free his erection from its confines. It juts up, and nudges right at the cleft of Dean’s buttocks like it belongs there. “ _Good_ ,” his second word rises to a groan as he grinds into those pert globes, mesmerised by the way they clench around his hardening shaft.

“Oh…God, Richard,” his name drips off Dean’s lips like sex.

His last shred of control strains precariously. It leaves him a single moment of clarity as he takes Dean’s wrists, enveloping them easily in his larger hands, and asks if he’s _ready_.

For the second time, he hears Dean suck in a long, shaky breath. Then the smaller man nods.

Hauling Dean’s arms up, Richard locks his wrists to the wall, and bucks into him, almost lifting him off the floor with the force of it. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t allow Dean to touch, keeping him trapped at the wrists and hips. Again and again, Richard lunges into him, shoving him up against the wall, not penetrating but filthy and intimate all the same, the entire girth of his arousal dragging between Dean’s arse-cheeks in fleshy, wet strokes. The head of his cock rubs against Dean’s sensitive entrance every so often, teasing that helpless little hole.

“Richard – please I – I – need – ” Dean barely chokes out. He twists desperately in Richard’s hold. “Let me touch – ”

“You don’t need to,” Richard bends his head and nuzzles his cheek, a startling contrast to the dirty rutting below and the obscene noises of sliding flesh. “You’ll imagine my hand on your cock. You know how that feels. You’ll come just like this because you’re such a sweet little _cockslut_.” He punctuates the last three words with increasingly ferocious thrusts.

“ _Jesus_ – ” Dean cries out, body arching uncontrollably, head thrown back on Richard’s shoulder.

Richard holds the younger man as he climaxes, releasing his wrists and propping him up. Dean’s _shaking_ in his arms, mewling with each string of pearly white that sputters from his cock. That’s a first, Richard actually notes to himself even as his own thrusts grow erratic and urgent, Dean coming without even his cock being touched.

“Hurry,” the blonde murmurs, and Richard would have been amused to feel Dean’s hand finding and _smacking_ his thigh, if it doesn’t actually turn him on even more. “I want to feel you come,” Dean drawls, eyes still glazed from his intense orgasm. He smacks Richard – again.

Growling, Richard picks up the pace, arms keeping Dean flushed against him, control finally snapping. He feels only wet, warm flesh, hears only soft cries of pleasure from the body writhing against him, and he comes in a rushing wave, spattering all over Dean’s buttocks. But he’s not quite done yet. He’s still gripped in the aftershocks of his climax, groans reverberating through his chest, and his hands are feverish as they grope over Dean’s pretty rump.

“Richard…?” Dean is beginning to turn around. Then, he yelps and leans his head into the wall as Richard’s slickened fingers delve into his arse-crack. “Fuck! _Fuck,_ that’s good…” he says a second time when Richard finds his prize, fingers resting just against what feels like a twitching, soft furl of muscle.

He marvels at the feel of Dean’s entrance, how it tries to pull his fingers in. He slides one inside, slowly, methodically, relishing the drawn-out moan it drags from Dean, and just lets his finger rest in there, clamped in that tight, sweet heat. When he is satisfied, he pulls out, scoops up more of his own release, and pushes two fingers back inside Dean. “Swallow it,” he instructs Dean, and smirks against the man’s flushed cheek when he feels how greedily Dean’s hole sucks him back in. He is so very thorough as well, twisting his fingers and spreading them to caress all around Dean’s passage.

“Armitage, you…dirty bastard,” Dean swears at him, then diminishes its effect with a whimper.

Richard ends his lewd little task then. He turns Dean around in his embrace, resting his hands on the younger man’s waist and spending the next few minutes masking his chuckles in a fit of coughs as Dean squirms and cusses most inelegantly at the feel of fluid leaking down his thighs. Richard has enough experience on that end of matters to know how uncomfortable it can be. He’ll be more sympathetic if he doesn’t actually enjoy a ravished Dean O’Gorman as much as he does.

So he does the next best thing under these circumstances. He ducks his head and kisses the blonde quiet. He waits for Dean’s mouth to surrender, and he deepens the caress, letting the sensuous glide of lips and tongues intensify until they are both breathless.

And of course, Dean has to break the mood when they finally pull apart. “You called me a cockslut,” he announces, eyebrows raised.

“Ah, right,” Richard sighs. How does he explain that when his composure is completely wrecked, he literally transforms into a foul-mouthed pimp? “I must apologise for – ”

“Nah,” Dean waves a hand dismissively. “It’s worth hearing it from the Armitage Bedroom Voice.”

Richard has no idea what _that_ is. Besides, he senses another query from the blonde.

Dean’s gaze is wide and wondering. “What…” he tries, and pauses as if he’s searching for the right words. “What’s got into you today? You’re – different.” There is cautiousness in his bearing now, and Richard guesses he’s trying not to cross the parameters that protect the current status quo of their relationship.

Richard thinks he should choose his own response more wisely, perhaps offer a half-truth, but it is not in his nature to lie. “You,” he admits quietly, his eyes holding Dean’s gaze without flinching. “Watching you pleasure yourself with my name on your lips.” His hand rises and he cups Dean’s chin in his palm. “It’s beautiful.”

Dean O’Gorman being flustered is quite the sight. He sputters something irrelevant, his voice goes squeaky, and he laughs a little too loudly as he tries to cover up his embarrassment. Richard waits patiently for it to pass.

“Bed?” Dean finishes sheepishly, managing to look both cocky and bashful as he grins up at Richard.

Richard thinks of the schedule he had planned so meticulously for the morning and shelves it away at the back of his mind. “I’ll like to,” he smiles, and lets his lover take him by the hand and lead them both to bed.

 

_finis_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on quite the RPF kick now, I have to say. Gormitage, you know it'll eventually be your turn.


End file.
